Tribute to our new assassin
by coffeebreakfantasies
Summary: As the streets of Paris are filled with terror and death, a badly wounded assassin experiences a most unlikely saving. A spicy tribute to Arno Dorian after watching the first CGI trailer of Unity. Enjoy ;)


Tribute to Arno Dorian

It was past midnight. The air was still heavy with powder, but the smoke had long settled. What remained was the stench of sweat, blood and death.

His hands were shaking as he untied the red scarf around his neck. He tried to block out the screams. Screams of the dying and wounded. Screams of women being raped, or voluntarily paying tribute to the revolutionists. Clenching his jaws, he wrapped the scarf around his waist and pulled it tight. The pain was excruciating and he knew that he was running out of time. He had already lost too much blood. His legs started to go numb and a familiar dizziness was creeping up his spine.

With the guards so close on his heels it would take a miracle to save him. But miracles were for dreamers and his dreams had long been shattered to dust. Straightening his spine he braced himself for the inevitable.

He was going to die.

The footsteps grew louder and he could hear the guardsmen swear.

But at least he had got his revenge.

Tightening his grip around his sword he remembered his vow.

Live by the creed!

Now the time had come to die like an assassin.

I had watched him, crouching barely 20 feet away in the shadows behind smashed furniture. He seemed badly wounded, but the way he carried his features wrapped in a long blue military coat still reminded me of a predator, ready to strike. His hood hid most of his face, but there was no way this man could be older than in his mid-twenties. And he was armed...obviously from head to toe.

For hours I had managed to flee the plundering, killing and raping mob. I had seen corpses that were barely older than 10 years, half naked women with slit throats and starving children screaming for their mothers. I looked down at my soaked skirt, my torn cami and the bloody knife in my hand. And I had learned one thing the hard way...God had forsaken this city and no one could be trusted.

But right now, right here it was either him or the guards. Slowly I rose.

His head turned and I felt the exact moment our eyes met in the dark. His gaze was lingering. Judging. Probing. Seconds past by like hours. As the guards were about to round the corner he slightly nodded.

I lifted my skirt and ran, crossing the narrow street, pushing him back on a barrel. He groaned, but he did not hesitate. Shoving up my skirt his gloved fingers tightly grabbed my naked butt, while his other hand tore open what was left of my cami, exposing my naked breasts to his hot breath. I shoved back his hood and gasped. Loud.

Perfect features. Strong chin, sensous lips, framed by a three days growth of beard. An aristocratic nose, that had obviously been broken at least once. A wavy mass of shoulder length dark brown hair which had long escaped its leather string and eyes that held the depths of an ocean while carrying the color of an autumn forest.

For an endless second I stared into this bottomless pit. Then, as the guards came into sight, he forced our lips to meet.

I have never been kissed like that before. My whole universe became a whirlwind of emotions. Need. Hunger. Heat. I felt like riding a dragon through open fire. His lips weren't gentle, neither were his fingers, that dug into my soft flesh. His tongue wanted, ordered and took.

„Nice butt you got yourself, boy..."

I barely heard the guards words, but I did hear the tingle as a deadly blade snapped out of his wristband close to my heart. I tensed. His grip softly tightened, keeping me immobilized, for my skirt covered most of his lower body, including his weapons and his bloody belly.

„Care to share?" The guard had stepped into arms reach, carrying a foul odor of sweat and wine.

The strangers lips softened, lingered. Then reluctantly he let go and turned his head.

„You can have her rear..." The smile on his lips carried a confidence that would have made the devil tremble. "...if you get rid of the audience." His voice sounded incredibly erotic and utterly dangerous.

Terror washed over me like a wildfire as the guard opened his breeches. A hungry smile on his lips he didn't bother to turn, as he ordered his men. „Disparez! Vite!"

I started to struggle as he stepped behind me, his sweaty fingers running up my inner thigh. The passion I had felt only minutes ago turned into utter despair. And despair into panic. I remembered the knife I still held in my hand around the strangers waist. Taking a shaky breath, my arm moved back until the tip of my blade rested against the strangers crotch. He didn't flinch. His gaze focused on the rest of the guards, his deadly grip tightening around my hips. I could already feel the guards cock probing my bared cheeks, ready to thrust. I turned my wrist, threatening to increase the pressure and my fingers accidentally brushed over a rock hard bulge that was throbbing against his breeches. A nearly inaudible moan escaped his lips as he opened them ever so slightly.

The moment I felt the guards cock trying to penetrate my ass, his fellow officers rounded the next corner. The stranger looked back at me. His eyes were filled with sorrow and a voiceless plea for forgiveness as his hand moved with deadly determination. Next thing I felt was sticky warm blood running down my shoulder and then I heard the bubbling sound of a man who's throat had been stabbed into silence.

All he could do was wait. His cock pumping hard against the tip of the knife she still held with her trembling fingers. She had every right to take it out on him. He had already used her to a limit he would never forgive himself. But beside the terror and the hatred in her eyes she was all sex. Her cheeks flushed, her lips swollen and her heavy breath exposing her breasts to the fullest.

His father had raised him a warrior, his mother a gentleman. But bastard he was, he wanted her. Right now, right here. Amidst the chaos and the blood, with a dying man at his feet and danger lurking around every corner, he simply wanted to fuck her, to savor the tenderness of her flesh and to thrust his cock into the soft velvet between her thighs. He hungered for a release like a dying man for absolution.

But this was no way to repay her. She had saved him. In the deadliest of situations she had trusted him not only with her life but also with her body. He knew less than 5 men who would do this for him – and there had only been one woman. A woman who's betrayal had cost him everything.

Reluctantly he loosened his hands from her body, holding them up in what would have been a gesture of surrender if not for the hidden blade, which was still dripping with the guards blood. With a wink of his wrist he retracted it.

„Shall we call it a truce?" he asked, his voice raw with need.

She blinked. And he could nearly feel her inner turmoil. Her gaze wandered down, her free hand lingering over his wound, stroking the red cloth ever so tender.

He groaned, watching her gaze drifting lower to where his cock met her knife. He braced himself for her touch, for the humiliating fact that he would probably not be able to hold back. That he would spill his seed into his breeches. Desperate for control he shock his head, trying to find a way to distract her.

„What is your name?", he asked, his voice barely more than a whisper.

„Marie," she whispered, her knife suddenly fumbling at his fob chain.

He took a relieved breath.

Almost absently she freed his watch, the last reminder of his past. The trophy that had nearly cost his life tonight. He still remembered the look on the marquis' face as he finally recognized the man who had ended his life.

She looked up and for a second he was baffled at the pure hatred that flashed from her eyes.

„My name is Marie de Beauchamp", her voice clearly carried an aristocratic touch. "And you are the assassin that killed my father."

This moment Arno Dorian knew he would die, and as the pain kicked in, his world turned black.

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